Remember Remry
by esking
Summary: An OC with a hidden agenda, an uncharacteristically persistent interest in Batman's nighttime exploits, a wealth of information she shouldn't have, and a painful connection to Commissioner Gordon...sounds like fun. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings my dear chickadees. This is just a small thingy that I wrote with an OC who I originally used in my Inception fics. But now I've decided to use her here too, so deal with it. Enjoy. It's supposed to take place during TDK, but it doesn't really involve the Joker or any of the mob guys like Moroni or Falcone from the movie. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight. But I do own the night. So if you go outside after dark, you owe me $20 a pop.**

Batman reached the top of the roof and detached the cable, reattaching the cable gun onto his belt.

"That is one fine specimen of a utility belt," said a voice from the shadows.

"Who's there?" he growled, tensing.

There was movement to his left, and a teenaged girl with curly red hair stepped into the ambient light cast by the windows in the adjacent buildings. Her face was hardly visible, but he had the funniest feeling that he recognized her. "Who are you?"

The girl shrugged. "Just an interested third party observer. You can call me Walker."

"Why would I be calling you anything?" Batman demanded, perhaps a bit aggressively.

Walker grimaced. "Do you really have to talk like that? You sound like a chain smoker gargling marbles. Don't people realize who you are when you show up the next day all hoarse?"

Batman stared at her without answering, unsure what to make of this strange girl. Walker shrugged. "Ah, well, I guess that's neither here nor there. You're going the wrong direction, by the way," she called as Batman hunched his shoulders and started walking towards the opposite rooftop. He stopped and heard Walker say, "Seems Moretti's finally gotten wise to you. He fed a ton of false info down the grape vine. He's not at the Docks, he's at Chuck's diner, the one a block south of Chinatown."

Batman whirled around. "How do you know?" But the girl was nowhere to be seen.

**oOo**

Batman left the gangsters tied up in the diner, vanishing just as the flashing lights rounded the corner. Gordon would no doubt want to talk to him, ask where he'd gotten his information, but that was not something Batman was particularly keen on doing. People in this town didn't give knowledge away freely, especially not when it concerned the mob. Walker may be just a girl, but she was dangerous.

He waited at the rooftop, hoping that she'd return so he could question her. He'd need to keep an eye on someone with information about the mob, lest her investigative abilities be turned against him.

An hour passed before he decided to call it a night and return to the Batmobile. However, when he reached it, Walker was leaning casually on the hood, casting an appraising eye over it as one might inspect a prize stallion.

As Batman drew near, she straightened and said, "Nice ride. Did you get them?"

Batman nodded. "Why are you helping me?"

Walker raised her eyebrows, and in a sarcastically breathless voice said, "Because you're a _hero_, and I _believe _in you. I want to be just like you when I grow up because I believe that violence _is_ the answer and that fist fights accomplish _much _more than politicians _ever _will. You _inspire _me, Batman!"

"Funny," growled Batman. "How did you know where Moretti would be?"

The girl yawned widely and started to walk away down the alley. "Where would the fun be if I told you that?" She kept walking, but as she melted into the shadows, Batman heard her say, "I'll be seeing you, Mr. Wayne."

**All reviews appersheated. The next chapter will be posted shortly. Peace love and 3rd Rock from the Sun.**

**-esking**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight. But I do own _a_ dark knight. We call him Larry. **

The next morning, Bruce Wayne arose far earlier than normal and padded downstairs to the kitchen where Alfred was preparing breakfast, wishing to confide in him about the girl from last night.

Seeming to read his mind, Alfred said without turning around, "I thought you were planning to head Moretti off at the _docks_, Master Wayne."

"I was," said Bruce. "I had a tip-off I want you to follow up on. She called herself Walker. She's about five-eight, curly red hair."

"That's not much to go on."

"And I'd guess she was maybe sixteen."

Alfred craned his neck to look at Bruce from where he stood at the stove, eyebrows raised. "That might narrow it down a bit. I'll get on it then, shall I?" He handed Bruce a steaming plate of eggs and bacon, which Bruce accepted gratefully.

Looking fixedly at the plate, he said softly, "She knows who I am."

"I'll get on it immediately," said Alfred. "Will you be going out tonight, sir?"

Bruce nodded. "There's a new name I've been hearing: Emilio Cammarano. Thought he might need a dinner date."

"Be careful, sir," he heard Alfred mutter as he left the kitchen.

**oOo**

For the past few days, rumors had been flying in every direction (both on the streets and in the police station) about a new drug runner called Emilio Cammarano, but so far no one had seen hide nor hair of him. At least not anyone who was talking about it. Gordon was tearing his hair out and, though he didn't want to admit it, was fiercely hoping that Batman would take point on this one. It was for this very reason, he suspected, that Batman was currently avoiding him.

After exhausting all his regular research resources, Batman was beginning to lose hope, wondering if Cammarano was just a name to take the heat, and that he would need a new approach. Tonight was his last attempt to find the dealer, hoping that the whisper he'd heard about a shipment being received at the train station would prove to be accurate.

He took up his sentry post at nine, crouched atop a storage container overlooking the tracks. The train station hadn't been used in over a decade, and the surrounding buildings were derelict and dilapidated, the perfect cliché.

"He's not here. There's no deal tonight."

Walker was standing a few feet away, at the other end of the storage container, her stance relaxed but alert. She smiled at him, but the gesture was devoid of emotion, as though it was nothing more than decorum, force of habit. "Cammarano _is_ real, but he's not coming here. His daughter has a dance recital tonight. Plus, he's dropped work for now. Marriage is on the rocks and his wife is giving him one last chance. He'll be on his best behavior for two more weeks at least. You'd be better off checking out the jewelry store on thirty-third and Lincoln. It's going to be robbed in…" she glanced at her wrist, "twelve minutes."

"How do you know?" asked Batman, not expecting an answer.

"I was invited to help."

"You're a criminal?"

Walker shoved her hands into her pockets. "Do you _really_ have to talk like that? I know who you are, can you just talk like a normal person? You're making my throat sore just listening to you."

Batman remained silent for a moment. Then, in his normal voice, said, "How do you know who I am?"

"I'm psychic," said Walker, unsmiling. Batman said nothing. She sighed. "Alright, you got me. On the day of Commissioner Loeb's funeral, I saw you in the apartment building, talking to the captured officers in you Gollum voice. From there it wasn't a huge deductive leap." She looked at her watch again. "You're really gonna have to get moving if you wand to get to the jewelry store. I'll let you know when Cammarano resurfaces."

**oOo**

"Alfred, did you find anything?" Bruce asked, walking briskly into the workshop, which was still brightly lit even though it was well past one in the morning. Alfred was seated at the computer, but wasn't working. He seemed to be waiting for Bruce, and indeed he was.

"Yes, sir," he said. He held out a printed picture. "Is this her?"

Bruce took the picture. "That's her. Who is she?"

Mutely, Alfred handed him another sheet, a copy of a news article dated a year previously, accompanied by a different picture of Walker. It was headed by bold print: **Body of Gotham HS Freshman Found 4 Months After Disappearance.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Thanks for reading! This is the last chapter that I've pre-written before typing, and I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this. But you don't know that. You may continue obliviously reading, thinking that I know exactly what I'm doing. Yes, I do. I know _exactly _what I'm doing. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Knight. I do own Walker. Sometimes we brush each other's hair and gab about American Idol. (I don't own The Devil Wears Prada either).**

Gordon rubbed his eyes as he sat down at his desk. It was covered by mountains and mountains of papers and files, more problems he had to deal with. He'd been standing by the spotlight on the roof for the last two hours; the past few days had seen a string of uncoordinated attacks, most probably in retribution for Moretti's arrest, and he was beginning to feel hopelessly overwhelmed. Again.

He heard a rustle behind him and spun his chair around, expecting to see Grace, or Nolan the janitor. Instead, he was met with the black-clad, masked figure of Batman.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said, standing up.

Batman held out a sheet of photocopied newsprint. "I need to know who she is."

Gordon accepted the sheet, and felt his heart plummet into his stomach. The face which had tormented him in countless nightmares, had consumed his waking life for over a year, was staring blankly at him from between his hands.

"Why?" he croaked, resenting the tremble in his voice.

"It's important," Batman said. "Who is she?"

"You've read the article," said Gordon evasively, flicking his eyes from the floor to the wall and back again, looking anywhere but at the man before him. "You know."

"I know she was a freshman at Gotham High School and that she disappeared." He paused. "And that _you_ were the lead detective on the investigation."

Gordon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The absurdity of the situation dangled before him. He'd never have anticipated to be talking about his worst fear, his greatest failure, with the Batman, only a mask and a voice.

"Her name was Rachel Marie Walker," Gordon began, fighting to keep his tone even. "We called her Remry.

"Is she dead?" Batman growled.

Gordon fluttered the newspaper helplessly. "Yes! Damn it. She's dead."

"You _saw_ her?"

"Why?"

Gordon saw Batman's eyes flicker evasively, but only for a moment. "She told me where to find Moretti."

"When!" Gordon demanded.

"Two days ago."

Gordon collapsed back into his chair, his face slack. "That's not possible."

"I need-"

"She's dead! Goddammit!" Gordon shouted. "She _died_! I held her dead fucking body in my arms. I watched them lower it into the ground!" He ran his hand forcefully through his grey hair, making it stand on end. "Jesus," he muttered.

"I need to know if I can trust her," said Batman, apparently unfazed by Gordon's outburst.

Gordon shrugged. "Remry's dead. I don't know who the hell you've been talking to." He looked down at his interlocked fingers clasped in his lap. "How did you-" he began, looking up, but the office was empty. He sighed.

**oOo**

When Bruce returned to his bedroom at the penthouse, a nondescript white envelop was resting on his pillow. On the front was scribbled the letter: _B_

"Alfred?" Bruce called out, and a moment later, the butler appeared.

"Sir?"

Bruce held up the envelope. "Who delivered this?"

Alfred's cheeks quivered as he frowned and shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I've not seen it before."

Bruce slit it open and removed a single slip of torn paper, on one side of which was scrawled: _Pier 32, 10:37 pm tomorrow. -W_

"Did the Commissioner have any light to shed on your prom queen informant?"

"Only that she died, and that Gordon has some connection to her."

**oOo**

Gordon returned home shortly after Batman left his office, not even caring that he would get a chewing out from Barbara for staying out so late. His brain felt tattered and useless. The past weeks had been too much strain for his old age. His old age. So recently, it felt, he'd been young, dark haired. He and Barbara had been the young couple, the only ones among their friends without kids. Although they had gotten to babysit.

_Paul met them at the door with his signature broad grin. He hugged Barbara and shook Jim's hand warmly. He was wearing a dark suit over a white shirt, and a tie hung loose around his neck. _

_"Hey, Rem," he called, leading the way into their small but neat kitchen. "Aunt Barbara and Uncle Jim are here."_

_A little four-year-old scrambled off of the stool upon which she'd been perched and waddled over to Jim and Barbara, with a grin identical to her father's. Her hair was covered in a wild strawberry patch of curls just like her mother's. _

_"Hi, sweetheart," Barbara cooed, scooping her up in her arms._

_"Sally!" Paul hollered up the staircase. "Are you ready?"_

_"Just about!"_

_There was a clattering sound and Sally emerged at the bottom of the stairs in a pretty evening dress. She also hugged Barbara, and kissed Jim on the cheek. _

_"You look lovely," he told her. She beamed. _

_"Shall we go then?" said Paul, offering her his arm._

_"Alrighty, then." Sally kissed Remry on the top of the head and followed Paul out the front door. "Have fun kids!"_

**Thanks for reading! All reviews appersheated.**

**-esking**


	4. Chapter 4

**Greetings dear chickadees. Thanks to anyone who's following this story. I'm trying to keep updates regular. That will probably go out the window when...like, now. Right, so this update may be followed by an empty void of nothingness during which your life will lose all meaning until I upload another chapter. Apologies. All I can say is, please don't try to fill this void with drugs or alcohol; they never helped anyone. Except the media. Warnings for language. Caspian, you still have to read it.**

**Disclaimer: Funnily enough, I don't own TDK. I do own Caspian's soul. I decided not to give it away. Cas, you can have it back if you...no, you can't have it back. You can have it if you let me edit your story. How's that sound. I'll even throw in a bar of soap.**

Gordon drove home in a daze, his mind reeling from the conversation he'd had with the Batman. It was impossible. Remry was dead. Although Gordon had lied about the proof. He'd never held a body, never even seen one. There'd been nothing left to see, save an unidentifiable skeleton at the bottom of the river.

A man had been convicted. He'd gotten life with parole. Paul and Sally hadn't gotten anything. No body, no funeral. The sentence on a not-guilty plea could hardly pass for closure. Gordon couldn't blame them for putting Gotham in their rearview mirror and never looking back. For Gordon himself, everywhere he went seemed to have memory of her. Even the damned station. She'd loved police, and came to visit him at work every Friday after school.

After all the blood and tears gone into her investigation, there was no way-_no way in hell_-that he was going to allow Batman to dredge this all back up. Remry was dead. He'd seen someone else. It was a mistake, a freak coincidence.

Gordon's hands trembled as he unlocked his front door and let himself into the kitchen. Barbara sitting at the little circular table, arms folded tightly, lips pursed.

"What's wrong?" asked Gordon tentatively, expecting a scolding for coming home late again.

"Fucking Bruce fucking Wayne!" Barbara hissed. Gordon now saw she had a newspaper clutched in her hand, so tight it seemed as though she was afraid it might try to escape.

Gordon shrugged off his jacket and unbuckled his holster before sitting opposite her, seizing gratefully on the change of subject. "What about him?"

Barbara slapped the newspaper onto the table with a _CRACK!_ that made Gordon jump. "He's hosting another one of his 'buy more shit than the entire city combined should need' parties for some goddamned politician."

Gordon picked up the paper, skimming the article. It was headed by a picture of the man himself, brown arrogant eyes hiding beneath dark brows, thin lips turned ever so slightly down as though he couldn't be bothered to smile.

"It's for Harvey Dent." Gordon flicked his eyes up to his wife and said carefully," That seems like an honorable cause to me."

"Harvey Dent's not up for election for three years!" shrilled Barbara. She caught herself, looking over her shoulder to Jimmy's bedroom door. "_He _doesn't need that money. Everyone loves him! Do you know how much money is going into the campaign just from this party alone?"

Gordon shook his head.

"More than _ten million dollars!_ Wayne bought a _helicopter_ for the occasion." Barbara sniffed angrily. "Apparently the one he had already isn't suitable."

"Barbara," Jim began, "I don't thi-"

"The hospital just got turned down for another grant application," Barbara said with a quiet sob. A single tear slid down her cheek. "The city council says they can't find room in their budget, what with all the D.A.'s 'projects.'"

Gordon reached across the table and enclosed her dry, cracked hand-a nurse's hand-in both of his.

She continued, fighting back more tears. "I have a four-year-old boy who needs a specialist heart surgeon, but we can't afford one because the city's too damn busy chasing after mobsters." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "And Bruce Wayne could make that all go away in a second, but instead he buys a helicopter for a fucking trust fund party."

Gordon nodded, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry." Suddenly, he chuckled grimly as a memory struck him. "I first met Bruce Wayne when he was seven years old."

"Yeah? Was he a spoiled bastard then, too?"

"He was quiet. I think I scared him a little." Barbara smiled wanly. "It was just after his parents died. I remember…" he paused for a moment, eyes far away. "He had his father's jacket. God, I don't think he would have let go of that thing for anything." He shook his head.

Barbara raised her eyebrows. "Are you saying I should feel sorry for him because his parents were murdered?"

"No. I'm just saying…people change."

"Well, maybe he'll change again." Barbara's tone was sarcastic and acrimonious.

"Maybe."

Barbara raised herself from the table. "You coming to bed?" she croaked, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"In a minute."

When Barbara was gone, he removed from his pocket the folded newspaper article Batman had given him and set it on the table. Resting his chin on his hands, he stared at it, thinking.

_Gordon waited at his desk. It was 4:30 on Friday, and he was waiting for Remry, as was their tradition. Her bus home from school dropped her off a block from the station, and for three years, she had been meeting him every Friday, to peer at the drunk tank and snag a doughnut. Once or twice she'd even offered useful insight on an investigation. _

_He looked at his watch. She was ten minutes late. Attributing it to a bus delay, Gordon wasn't worried. And, sure enough, a few minutes later, he heard the squeal of bus brakes and looked out the window to see, a block down, six or seven kids piling onto the sidewalk. But, looking closer, Gordon realized that Remry's bright red head was not among them._

_After waiting for another fifteen minutes, he called her parents, and crossed the station to Missing Persons division. _

_That was the first time Remry vanished._

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	5. Not a Chapter

**Chapitre Cinq**

**That's right. Je parle francais. Je suis tres intelligente. Btw, I just saw the new Hobbit preview with Thorin singing, and it is AMAZING so you should definitely check it out. At the moment, I am only halfway through writing the actual chapter five, and I promised Mr. You-know-who-you-are an interesting author's note, so I thought I'd take this opportunity to do that. So, if you're actually reading this for the story, you don't have to read this chapter.**

**Fun fact about the Gotham Police Department: their bullet proof vests say GCPD, but their armored vans only say GPD. Coincidence? I. THINK. _NOT! _Actually, nothing coincides, so it's not really a coincidence. What's _your_ problem? I blame _you_ for this. Yes, you. You, right there, in front of the computer. **

**Ha, funny thing that my science teacher said today. We were categorizing different elements by testing color, luster, conductivity, malleability, and reactivity, the last of which involved immersing a small bit of the element in hydrochloric acid. About 45 minutes through the lab, he calls out to the entire class, "Okay, so all of you should be on acid by now." There was much amusement. **

**Caspian says I defy logic because I wear monkey socks. I say that my monkey socks do not require logic. They transcend logic. They are superior to logic. One cannot try to logicize monkey socks. Well, one could, but one would fail epicly. So epicly the epic scale would shatter with sheer epicness. Now I sound like Scott Pilgrim. Which has Shaw the manslut in it from Chuck. **

**You know what's awesome? Commissioner Gordon has a mustache. Just thought everyone would like to know that. Except for Mr. You-know-who-you-are 'cause you've never seen Dark Knight. That will change very soon. Count on it. You know what else it funny? In BB/TDK, Christian Bale hangs out with a character named Alfred, and in The Prestige (also by Christopher Nolan-if you haven't seen it, you should definitely check it out), he plays a character named Alfred. **

**Yawn. I think I shall cease to write this now. Mr. You-know-who-you-are, I hope you have been satisfied, and if not, expect a most swift brutal retribution. You have been warned.**

**All reviews appersheated.**


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